in which I wait for Godot in a room smelling of guacamole, and I consider how to teach things I don’t know

I taught two courses as a graduate student: Global Modernism and Its Successors: An Introduction and Children’s Literature. Both were full of useful screw-ups, but let’s focus on the louder failure. Global Modernism and Its Successors, a course not of my choosing or design, was assigned to all aspiring English PhDs at my university. That […]

in which I hope I’m not a kidult

My ten-year high school reunion was in 2009. I traveled back to Charlotte, North Carolina eager to see my close friends, harboring only a few secret desires that the demigods of high school vengeance had punished those who deserved a comeuppance. But I was anxious about the possibility of being plummeted, immediately and this time […]

in which I talk about pony poop

It took me two tries to get into graduate school. Year One was a wash, ending in an offer with no money to an institution in a city I couldn’t afford to live in — and an admit to the MA program, not the PhD program to which I’d applied. Year Two involved an awkward […]